


Chastity for the Desperately Horny

by ThrallofPentacles



Series: The Summoner's Transformation [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (consensual & temporary) mindbreak, 23 vs mid to late 30s, 24/7 BDSM, A tiny bit of aftercare, Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Begging, Blow Jobs, Body Modification, Breast Expansion, Brief kink negotiation, Bukkake, Chastity Device, Come Swallowing, Consensual Roleplay, Consensual Somnophilia, Creampie, Crossdressing, Crying, Degradation, Dildos, Dreams, Dylan only gets to come in the last chapter, Edging, Exhibitionism, Feminization, Forced Orgasm, Handcuffs, Humiliation, Infidelity Roleplay, M/M, Masturbation, Misgendering, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Nipple Torture, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Pain, Past Body Modification, Piss Enema, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punishment, Pussy Spanking, Rape Roleplay, Safewords, Semi-Public Sex, Sharing a Bed, Shower Sex, Situational Humiliation, Slut Shaming, Slut-Shaming, Squirting, Temperature Play, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Watersports, Wetting, a bit of drool, a bit of spanking, a couple electric shocks, a little bit of praise kink, a tiny bit of cuckolding, afab language, altered mental state, and some stuff that could fall under body shaming, cis man with a vagina, cis man with breasts, coming untouched (sort of), consensual surveillance, counting spanks, heights, how is that not a tag???, i'm not allowed to come this week so have some extra filth, mentions of an offscreen gangbang, mentions of breeding/mpreg but none occurs, minor sleep deprivation, pillow humping, questionably safe sex, some of these are chapter specific, use of words like stupid as degradation, will also add those above each chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27942074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThrallofPentacles/pseuds/ThrallofPentacles
Summary: "I know, baby. I know you love to come on my cock, but you want those big titties, don't you? You don't get nice things like that without a little effort."I'm going to need you ready for this. That's what we're going to do, all this week. I'm going to play with you every day. You'll be so horny, you won't even be able to think—but you're not going to come. Do you understand?"
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: The Summoner's Transformation [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006842
Comments: 13
Kudos: 214
Collections: Naughty Misc





	1. Monday

**Author's Note:**

> Optional Challenge: Play along with Dylan. Read a chapter every day, and don't come until he does. Let me know how far you got! ;)
> 
> also, since ao3 keeps mixing up the order of my tags, here are the ones that are present pretty much throughout: humiliation, feminization, crossdressing, past body modification, cis man with a vagina, cis man with breasts, afab language, misgendering, orgasm control, orgasm delay/denial, orgasm denial, Dylan only gets to come in the last chapter, safewords, consensual roleplay, bdsm, 24/7 bdsm, age difference, 23 vs mid to late 30s, plot what plot/porn without plot, words like stupid used as degradation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: heights
> 
> this chapter contains masturbation, vaginal fingering, semi-public sex, questionably safe sex (they fuck on a balcony), handcuffs, a bit of slut-shaming, and vaginal sex
> 
> also, mentions of past spanking, fucking machines, and edging as punishment

If there was one thing M had taught him over and over again, it was that patience was not one of Dylan's virtues. Now, in the final week of the year and a day he'd been forced to wait before resummoning Zin, the incubus who had changed his body so drastically, he was painfully aware of the lack.

He lay on the sofa, with his skirt rucked up around his waist so that he could tease his pussy. It was  _ constant,  _ lately—every time he tried to get his mind off his cunt, he would remember that in just seven days, he would have Zin inside it again. There was no satisfying himself. He craved the incubus, and sometimes that was okay. M would play with him, and for a little while it would be enough.

He'd taken to calling M his owner—not his master like Zin, but someone he belonged to in the meantime. If he went to him now, he could relieve some of the ache between his legs. It was risky to make the first move with M. If he was busy working, he might decide that Dylan was getting too spoiled and punish him. But he already had three fingers inside, and it just wasn't  _ enough.  _ In a fit of recklessness, he went and knocked on M's door.

"Come in."

He did, and when he saw that M was only reading a novel at his desk, his shoulders slumped with relief. Dylan  _ could  _ skip the punishments if he wanted to, there was a safeword, but he preferred to take them when they came. The threat of them felt so much more tangible that way. If he took every single one, it made M's control that much more real.

"What is it, pet?" M asked.

Dylan blushed and extended his slick-covered hand in explanation.

"Do you need my cock, baby?"

He nodded. But when he made to climb into M's bed, the man put out a hand to stop him. "I decide where we play," he warned.

"Yes, sir."

"I'm feeling like a change, tonight. Get naked for me."

Dylan obediently took off his blouse and bra, and let his skirt and panties pool on the floor. M put a hand on his lower back to guide him into the main hallway of the apartment. Then down, past the toy room, past the room where he took most of his punishments and the bathroom and Dylan's own room, right to the end of the hall where a sliding door led to an open balcony.

Dylan balked. "I—that's—what if someone sees?"

"Are you telling me you're bashful, now? I remember how we met. You were spread open and fucking yourself stupid, not even waiting for someone to walk in. Sopping wet for any stranger who wanted you."

He flushed, and his clit tingled slightly with his embarrassment. "I—that was only one person," he stammered, trying to explain himself.

M smiled. "Of course... you can choose where we play, baby." He leaned close to whisper in Dylan's ear. "I worry, you see, that you might get spoiled that way. But of course, letting you pick just this once won't give you any bad habits an hour on your pony can't fix."

Dylan's heart stuttered in his chest. The pony was the hardest of all M's punishments to bear—he  _ liked  _ spanking, even paddling, and loved the nipple clamps most of all. The pony was different. He rode it naked, blindfolded and gagged, tied up so that he couldn't move a muscle. Vibrators and suction cups brought him right to the edge of orgasm, and then held him there until he forgot his own name.

"No!" he blurted, desperate to avoid a whole hour of that torture. "Thank you, sir, but I want you to pick where we play."

M patted him gently on the ass. "Good girl." He slid open the door to the balcony, and Dylan shivered slightly. It was summer, but only just—and there was a lot of wind up here. His nipples hardened, and he became acutely aware of his own breasts. They had been another gift from Zin, one that grew every time he came. Except that over time, the growth had slowed down until he could hardly tell it was still happening.

Dylan stepped out. M's apartment was higher up than most buildings, but there were still a few that might have line of sight. He cupped his hands in front of his pussy, but M pulled them away. He took Dylan's hands and laid them on the railing—it was wrought iron, sturdy as an anchor, and came up to about the start of his ribcage.

M reached around him and fastened a pair of handcuffs to each of his wrists, connecting the other ends to the railing. "Just to be safe." Then he grabbed the back of Dylan's neck and slowly bowed him forward, until he was bent almost double over the railing. His breasts hung into empty space. It was barely dusk—he could see throngs of people walking down the street hundreds of feet below, and his flush spread down his exposed chest.

"What if they see?" he whimpered, as M pushed his legs apart.

"They won't be able to recognize your face. Too far away." M reached around to grope one of his breasts. "I bet they'll see these, though."

A finger slipped into him, and Dylan stifled a gasp. At first, his eyes stayed fixed on the ground far below—but as M opened him up, they started to wander. There was another skyscraper a few hundred yards away, with windows turned to mirrors by the setting sun. He thought he could see himself in one of them, shackled naked and filthy to the railing.

Then the tip of M's cock teased at his entrance, and he stopped caring. He clung white-knuckled to the rail to stop himself from pushing his hips back—that had earned him a lot of punishments over the past few months. He wriggled in pleasure as he felt it breach him, sliding in with agonizing slowness. His owner loved to make him wait.

"Please," Dylan said, remembering his manners this time. "May I have more?"

M hummed. "Well, since you're being such a good girl..." He started to thrust, and Dylan didn't bother to stifle his delighted squeal. Each stroke was harder and faster than the last, until every slap of his owner's balls against his ass made his breasts bounce.

"That's it," M said, in that oily voice that always made Dylan feel filthy. "Jiggle your titties for them, baby. Give them a good show."

Dylan looked down at the sea of heads, all held straight ahead, none looking up... yet. But that was all it would take, just a glance, for someone to look up and know exactly what he was letting M do to him up here.

He couldn't play with himself, couldn't even touch his clit—he needed his hands braced against the railing. But M reached around with his free hand and started to tease his stiff nipples. He groaned and lost his grip, tipping forward until the handcuffs pulled taut against his wrists. His owner drew back and slapped first one breast, then the other, playing with them until they were all Dylan could think about.

They were a little on the larger side of average, as far as he could tell. Not small, by any means, but... normal. Reasonable. Dylan was suddenly hyperaware of the week he had left before he would see Zin again—but this time, the thought made him nervous. Was this enough? When he'd first been cursed, he'd meant to hold himself back, make sure they never grew beyond what he could hide. Once that went out the window, he'd wanted to give the incubus something too obscene to be anything but magic.

There was no way to grow them any further, now. No way... or at least, no way that Dylan knew.

"S-sir?"

M paused with his cock buried inside Dylan. "Yes, pet?"

"I... I told you about my—my titties." Dylan blushed again. M wouldn't let him call them anything else, and the word never failed to make him hot with shame.

"You did." M pinched one of his nipples, idly rolling it between his fingers.

Dylan shivered. "I want to make them bigger. For Zin. Except, there's only a week left..."

It was quiet for a while, as M pondered this. Then he pet his hair and said, "I think we can make that happen." He started to move again, and Dylan let out a strangled noise as the head of his cock drove into him. His pussy clenched, and his clit throbbed.

"Of course..." M's thrusts sped up. He started to pant into Dylan's ear, and his rhythm grew more erratic. "You'll have to accept... a few...  _ sacrifices!" _ His breathing hitched into a grunt. Dylan could feel the dick inside him pulsing with M's orgasm, and let out a distressed whine as it withdrew. With the condom in the way, he didn't even get the satisfaction of his owner spilling inside.

"I know, baby," M cooed. "I know you love to come on my cock, but you want those big titties, don't you? You don't get nice things like that without a little effort." He pinched Dylan's nipples. "I'm going to need you ready for this. That's what we're going to do, all this week. I'm going to play with you every day. You'll be so horny, you won't even be able to think—but you're not going to come. Do you understand?"

Dylan swallowed hard. He couldn't  _ do  _ this—his pussy was already throbbing and dripping slick down his thigh.

M twisted his nipples until he saw stars. "Do. You. Understand?"

There was no other way. If he wanted to show Zin how much he'd enjoyed his curse... With tears in his eyes, Dylan replied, "Yes, sir."


	2. Tuesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains a chastity device, shower sex, anal fingering, vaginal fingering, blow jobs, come swallowing, and slut shaming
> 
> also, a little bit of spanking and a hint of praise kink

Left to his own devices, Dylan wouldn't have made it twenty-four hours. He knew that for a fact, because all of Monday night his hands had kept wandering between his legs, where he could feel a constant pulsing ache. Fortunately, or unfortunately, M had thought of that.

"Sir?" Dylan stopped just outside M's door, which had been left partway open. "I want to take my shower."

"Of course."

M led him into the master bathroom—already new and strange, since Dylan had his own down the hall. Once inside, he got on his hands and knees and presented himself.

Last night, M had given him a chastity device to wear while he slept. It covered his slit completely, with a little cup over his clit and a lock at the back where Dylan couldn't reach. Only his owner had the key. So long as it was there, he couldn't touch himself no matter how desperately he wanted to.

M unlocked it with practiced ease and set it on the sink. "Go on," he said, nodding towards the shower. And, when Dylan stepped inside, his owner followed.

"I—!" he squeaked.

  
"I can't let a slut like you go unsupervised," M told him, as he slid the door shut behind himself. "You could get up to all sorts of things in here."

Dylan looked down, his clit tingling with embarrassment. Then he reached for the shampoo, and M grabbed his wrist.

"Ah-ah-ah. I don't think you can be trusted to touch yourself right now. Hands on the wall."

Obediently, Dylan turned and placed his hands against the cool tile. There was a squeak, and then water came cascading down his shoulders and back. He flinched at the first jolt of cold, but M's apartment had good plumbing, and in less than a second it was hot and steaming. That was almost worse.

He struggled to stay still despite M's closeness, and the hand resting possessively on his hip. A bottle clicked open, and a moment later his owner's hands were in his hair, lathering it with firm, gentle strokes. It was down to his shoulders, now that he hadn't cut it in almost a year. He let his eyes drift halfway shut as M did his shampoo and then his conditioner. It was so easy to sink into the sensation of blunt fingernails on his scalp, gently massaging and rinsing, so that he was halfway asleep when he heard another bottle opening.

In an instant he was alert again, his pulse thundering in his ears. That was the body wash. He braced himself, and still he squeaked when he felt his owner's hands on his calves. M moved in his usual way, torturously slow, washing up to his knees before pulling away. Then came his shoulders and arms, the back of his neck, and his throat. He swallowed hard as M cupped both hands around it, rubbing ever so gently with his thumbs.

Then, the real torment began. His splayed fingers twitched as he felt those strong hands rubbing their way down his back, his sides, curling around his hips. M stepped in close, so close he could feel the swell of his owner's erection against his thigh, and washed his stomach. The hands wandered upward, following every line of his body, until they finally brushed over the swell of his breasts.

Dylan's hips twitched with the effort of keeping them still as M traced ever-tightening circles around his nipples. The sensation mixed with the wet heat of the steam, the soft floral scent of the soap, until his pussy clenched convulsively on empty air.

"You have such filthy nipples," M purred, rubbing them gently with his thumbs. "We're going to have to be extra thorough when we wash them."

His hips bucked forward. M pinched him, hard enough to make him cry out. Then he went back to rubbing, flicking, stroking his breasts, massaging them with both hands and pulling him close against his owner's chest. M's cock jabbed against his ass. He was so hard, now. Would waiting like this hurt for him, too?

"Down," M told him. He took Dylan's shoulders and pushed, guiding him until he was on his hands and knees with the water pounding on his back. His whole body trembled as those soap-slick hands traced their way up his thighs, down his back, across the curve of his ass. M played with that, too, smacking him playfully once or twice, and then slipped his hand between his cheeks. He yelped.

"Of course... just because we're getting you ready, doesn't mean we can't have some fun."

M's other hand slid up his thigh until he could stroke Dylan's slit with one finger. If he'd been standing, his knees might have buckled. The assault of sensation, heightened by all the hours he'd been denied his release, overwhelmed him. M massaged his asshole, opening him up until he could push a soapy finger inside without the slightest resistance. At the same time, he pressed into Dylan's pussy and pumped in and out, in and out, until his mouth lolled open in helpless pleasure.

"Would you have played with yourself like this, if I left you alone?" M wondered, as he added another finger—first in Dylan's pussy, then his asshole.

Dylan moaned into the stretch, and it was only when he'd adjusted that he could answer, "No, sir."

M stroked his clit with his thumb, and he couldn't help pushing his hips back against the touch. "Liar. Look at you, panting for it." M drew away. Dylan's breath hitched into a needy whine. "Do you want me to touch you again?"   
  


He nodded.

"Then tell the truth, slut. Would you have stuffed your fingers into your greedy cunt? Your nasty asshole? Hm?"

"Yes," Dylan admitted, his pussy throbbing with shame.

"Would you have fucked yourself until you came like a nasty little animal? Would you have disobeyed me?"

"Y-yes..."

"There. That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

Dylan whimpered. And then, when M made no move to touch him again, he blurted, "You said you'd—"

M slapped his ass, hard. "Did you already forget? You're not allowed to come this week, you stupid slut."

"Please," Dylan moaned. "Please, I need it."

His owner heaved a sigh. "Turn around."

Dylan sat down and shuffled so that he was facing M.

"Look what you've done to me."

He stared at his owner's cock, so swollen that veins stood out along the shaft and precome leaked from the tip.

"All those filthy noises you make. Your wet little pussy. Your tits... It's been very frustrating for me."

Dylan shivered in anticipation. He imagined M taking him here, shoving him against the wall and driving his cock in hard and deep...

"On your knees."

He assumed the position before he even thought about it.

"Good girl." M patted his head. "You're going to help me feel better. If you do a very good job, maybe I'll give you a reward."

It was all Dylan needed to hear. He'd still been unfamiliar with sucking dick when he met M—but he'd had a lot of practice in the meantime. He fisted the base of his owner's cock while he kissed and sucked at the tip, then dipped his head and took it into his mouth, careful to keep his teeth tucked behind his lips. He hollowed his cheeks, stroking whatever he couldn't suck as he let it sink deeper and deeper into his throat. Finally, his eyes stinging with tears, he swallowed it all the way to the base.

M fisted a hand into his hair as Dylan started to rock back and forth, gagging around the cock and taking breaths wherever he could. He reached up to fondle his owner's balls and pushed himself to move faster and faster, practically choking himself in his eagerness to please.

"Just like that, baby," M breathed. "Make me feel so... so good, I'm gonna—"

His cock pulsed. Dylan struggled to swallow his load, slurping noisily at the come that dribbled past his lips. "That's my good girl," M sighed. Dylan squirmed at the praise, caught as he always was between satisfaction and embarrassment.

He was too far gone for dignity. He turned and lowered himself back onto all fours, his ass wiggling eagerly—only to yelp when M spanked it.

"Did you really think I'd forget about the rules?" he demanded. "Or are you just a dumb bitch who's too horny to think for herself?"

Dylan's stomach twisted. He squeezed his eyes shut, guilt for disobeying warring with the filthy pleasure of being degraded. "I'm sorry, sir."

"You are," M crooned. "You are very, very sorry. Do you know how I know?"

Dylan shuddered. "Please..."

"I know because you're about to ride your pony, slut."

"No!" Dylan blurted. "Please sir, I'm sorry, I won't do it again!" He could hardly stand the torture of being held on the edge like that when he knew he would get relief afterwards. Now, when a whole week of frustration and denial stretched out in front of him... he couldn't do it. He  _ couldn't. _

He looked up at M, pleading, and that was when he knew there would be no arguing. No mercy. He couldn't do it... but he would.


	3. Wednesday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains brief vaginal sex, a chastity device, pillow humping, masturbation, nipple play, consensual surveillance, punishment, pain, pussy spanking, counting spanks, verbal humiliation, slut shaming, degradation, begging, crying, minor sleep deprivation, a tiny bit of aftercare
> 
> also, part of the degradation and verbal humiliation involves calling Dylan stupid/worthless/etc, in case that's a major turnoff for anyone

Riding the pony in this state was as bad as Dylan had feared. He spent the rest of Tuesday in his room, burning with frustration, until M walked in and ordered him onto his hands and knees.

"You want to be a good girl for me, don't you?" he said, as he slid his cock into Dylan's pussy. "You want me to feel good."

He nearly cried as M took him, trembling with the effort of staying still and not letting himself come. The one-sidedness only made it hotter—he felt like a toy, used and then discarded without any regard for his own pleasure. He was teetering right on the edge when M finished with a grunt and locked the chastity belt around his waist.

He lay in bed, tossing and turning and whimpering whenever his thighs rubbed together. His clit was so painfully swollen... He slipped a hand under his nightgown and met only cold, hard plastic. And so he stopped, and tossed and turned for another hour, until he tried again. And again and again and again, each time chasing some impossible hope that this time, this time the chastity device would vanish. A ridiculous thought—even if it did, there was a camera in his room. M would find out.

It was impossible to sleep. Every time he dozed off he would dream of cock—Zin's, or M's, or even just a dildo that he could ride until he finally,  _ finally  _ got some relief. And then he would wake with his pussy aching worse than ever.

Grey dawn light started to filter through the curtains. Hazy now with exhaustion and arousal, Dylan grabbed a pillow and shoved it between his legs, humping desperately against it and feeling nothing. The cup over his clit deadened all sensation. He slumped against the sheets, and yelped as his nipples grazed the fabric. Tingles of electricity ran down his spine.

He rolled over onto his back, still breathing hard, and tugged off his nightgown. Tentatively, he cupped his breasts in his hands and started to knead and tug at them. He rubbed his nipples and nearly burst into tears at the searing heat that erupted in the pit of his stomach. His movements got more and more frantic. He pinched and twisted them between his fingers, letting out little cries of pain and anguished pleasure as the pressure in his lower belly reached a peak.

Dylan was so close. He craned his neck so that he could take one of his nipples in his mouth and suck. His legs jerked, his toes curled, his cunt pulsed and fluttered as he poised to tumble over the edge—

The door to his room banged open. Dylan jumped and snatched his hands away from his breasts, his nipple popping out of his mouth still shiny with drool. His owner stood silhouetted in the light from the hall.

There was no denying what he'd been doing. No hiding. It would have been obvious even if M hadn't seen him on the camera— _ how had he forgotten the camera? _ He was naked, his nipples red and swollen from his abuse, a guilty expression frozen on his face. All he could do was plead for mercy. "I—I'm sorry—!"

"Get up."

Dylan slid out of bed. He stood there, trembling, waiting for judgment. "Turn around," M commanded, and he obeyed. Then his owner grabbed his shoulders and bent him roughly over the bed, kicking his legs open to expose the chastity belt he wore over his pussy. He heard the key enter the lock, and gasped as M tore the device away.

"Two days," M said, his voice tight with irritation. "You couldn't last longer than  _ two days." _

"I'm sor—"

M drew his hand back. For an instant, Dylan went flush with relief. He'd been spanked many times while he stayed with M. He knew what to expect, and he knew he could take it. Except that his owner didn't smack his ass—instead, he aimed a vicious slap at Dylan's exposed pussy.

"Ah!" Dylan jerked away instinctively, but M grabbed both his arms and shoved him down, pinning his chest to the bed so that his breasts throbbed with the force of his own weight. Then he let go, and there was the sound of a button opening.

"Start counting," M snarled. "You're going all the way to thirty."

"Thirty?" Dylan blurted. He couldn't—

_ Smack! _

"Let's make it fifty, then."

Dylan's eyes burned with tears, but he'd learned his lesson. He didn't speak out of turn.

"Start now.  _ One." _

"One," Dylan repeated. Now that he knew what to expect, it wasn't so bad—there was a sharp sting, but it faded quickly. More torturous by far was the slick slide of M's hand, pumping up and down on his cock. It left him hyperaware of his owner's dick, of how hard it must be, and of the empty space inside him it could fill so perfectly.

"Tell me what you did."

"I touched your pussy— _ ah!" _ Another stinging slap. "Without permission— _ oh! _ Th-three."

"What does that make you?"

"A bad— _ ngh! _ —bad girl. Four."

"Oh, you're more than  _ that,"  _ M said, giving his pussy a hard spank for emphasis. Dylan noticed for the first time how wet it sounded when his owner's palm struck his slick-soaked lips. "You're a  _ nasty. Stupid. Slut. _ Say it!"

Dylan struggled to repeat the words as the pain started to build. Each time the stinging lasted a little longer, giving him a little less respite between strikes.

"You  _ wanted  _ those big titties. You wanted them  _ so. Bad.  _ And I wanted to help you. I should have  _ known  _ you couldn't  _ control yourself." _ M spanked him twice, with less than a heartbeat between them. Dylan muffled a yelp into the mattress.

"Thirteen." More than a fifth of the way there. He could do this.

"You tell me you want to be a  _ good. Girl.  _ But deep down you're just a  _ mindless. Slut.  _ Aren't you?  _ Aren't you?" _

Dylan buried his face in his blankets and mumbled, "Yes."

_ "Speak. Up. _ And  _ keep. Fucking. Counting." _

A series of brutal strikes made Dylan's knees buckle. He cried out, tears welling in his eyes as he said, "Yes, sir! Twenty-five!"  _ Halfway there— _

"You filthy little  _ liar." _ M drew his arm back and delivered a series of searing blows—one to each of his ass cheeks, two to his pussy, one to his clit that made him bite back a scream. "You were on twenty-four. Are you too stupid to count?"

Dylan started to cry, and earned himself another slap.

"One," M said.

"What?!"

"You lose _count,_ you _start. Over._ Do you understand? Or do I need to break it down into _even._ _Smaller. Words?_ I've had some _stupid_ fucktoys in my life, but you are the _dumbest. Bitch._ I've _ever. Trained."_

Dylan collapsed against the bed, sobbing with humiliation more than the pain between his legs. "I... I couldn't... I don't remember..."

"You really can't count." M heaved a sigh. He rubbed Dylan's pussy with his left hand, soothing it and covering his palm in slick before he went back to stroking his cock. The spanking resumed.  _ "One. _ You can count to one, can't you baby? Hm?"

"One," Dylan whimpered.

"Good girl.  _ Two." _

"T-two."

_ "Four." _

Dylan squirmed, letting out a confused whine as the stinging in his pussy built into a constant, burning pain. "I—what—?"

"God. Force you to discipline that greedy cunt for a couple days, and you can't even count to  _ three.  _ That's one, slut. Start again."

Dylan started over. The pain built with every slap, now. M alternated between his pussy and his clit, sometimes hitting him so that there was more sound than pain, sometimes slapping him with full force. And all the while, he growled into Dylan's ear.

"You really can't  _ control  _ your own  _ body, _ can you?"

"Twelve."

"Did you  _ honestly  _ think I wouldn't  _ find out? _ Are you too much of a  _ cockslut  _ to think about  _ consequences?  _ Is that it? Is that nasty  _ cunt  _ doing all your thinking for you? Is that why you're such a  _ mindless. Fucking. Animal?" _

Dylan's breaths came in shallow gasps. It was too much—the series of blows had sharpened the pain in his pussy until he felt like he was on fire.

"Well? Can the dumb bitch count, now?"

"I—" Dylan's heart pounded. He couldn't remember... it had felt like fifty all on its own. But he thought back, burning with embarrassment as he remembered the words, and the rhythmic cadence of M's voice. "Twenty-one."

"Look at  _ that,"  _ M sneered. "The  _ stupid. Slut.  _ Can actually  _ learn." _

"Twenty-five," Dylan gasped, tears streaming down his cheeks. This time, he didn't dare think of it as a halfway point.

"You're so  _ lucky  _ someone gave you that  _ filthy. Pussy.  _ You know that?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Look at you.  _ Stupid. Impulsive. Slut.  _ How  _ worthless  _ would you  _ be  _ without that pretty little hole?"

Dylan struggled to speak through his sobs. "Thirty-three."

M reached around and twisted Dylan's clit between his fingers until he screamed. The pain hit a peak, and everything was so tangled up inside him that it felt almost like release.

"Answer me."

"W-worthless," Dylan whimpered. "I'd be... I'm nothing but a fucktoy."

"You could be such a  _ good. Girl.  _ If you could  _ just. Learn.  _ But you're aren't  _ smart  _ enough for that,  _ are  _ you?"

"I'm so stupid! So dumb, I can't...  _ Oh!"  _ Dylan flinched as M gave him another vicious spank. "Please, sir, I'm sorry I touched my titties! I just— _ Ah! _ I was so empty and I couldn't think!"

_ "Count,  _ bitch!"

"Forty— _ ah! _ Forty-three!"

"You're going to get  _ dumber.  _ I can already  _ tell.  _ Every time you  _ ride  _ your little  _ pony  _ I can tell there's even  _ less  _ going on behind those  _ pretty. Eyes." _

"F-fifty!" Dylan breathed in great heaving sobs, tears and snot running down his face. "Fifty! I did it!"

"That's right, slut. That's your punishment for touching those tits without permission. Now..."

Without warning, M drew his arm back and spanked Dylan again, and again, and again and again and again until desperate, animal wails poured out of him. "I'm sorry," he sobbed, "I'm such a dirty girl, I'm a worthless stupid slut! I want to be your good girl, I want—I need to be punished! Please, sir, teach me, make me your good girl—it hurts, it hurts,  _ please!" _

"I love it when you squeal," M growled. His breath hitched, and his come spattered all over Dylan's exposed ass.

Dylan collapsed bonelessly on his bed, his pussy fluttering and tingling with the force of the spanking. M sat beside him, gently rubbing his back and petting his hair. "That's it," he murmured. "You took that so well, baby. Such a good girl. I think you learned your lesson. Didn't you?"

"Yes!" he yelped. "Yes, I won't do it again, I promise!"

"That's my smart girl. Let's get some breakfast in you, hm? You're going to have a busy day."

Dylan whimpered. It was barely six in the morning, and already he was lying in a pool of his own slick, his whole body burning with need. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to get through another five days like this.


	4. Thursday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: body shaming (at one point Dylan dreams about Zin telling him he didn't grow his breasts enough)
> 
> this chapter contains sharing a bed, consensual somnophilia, dreams, in which Zin the incubus makes a cameo, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, anal fingering, mentions of breeding/mpreg but none occurs, a tiny bit of cuckolding, body modification and dildos (but only in a dream), anal sex, unprotected sex, and a creampie
> 
> also, brief mentions of masturbation, nipple play, pussy spanking, and a chastity device. plus there's some unrealistically heavy sleep, because somnophilia.

Dylan tried desperately to be good. He obeyed every order, spread his legs for M to use his holes and sucked his cock the best he knew how, but it wasn't enough. Because at night, with all those hours alone with his aching pussy, he just couldn't help himself.

He lasted almost to the morning on Wednesday before he started to play with his nipples.  _ Just a little,  _ he thought.  _ I won't come. I'll just take the edge off. _ But then the heat started to build, and Dylan was lost in a haze of his own soft moans and sensitive nipples. Again, M opened the door before he could finish, and again he spanked him until he cried and begged for mercy and swore he would never do it again. This time, M gave him another twenty strikes for lying.

"You can't help yourself," he said. "No matter how much you try to be a good girl, you're too stupid. All you understand is punishment and reward, and it takes time to train a slut that way."

That night when Dylan got down on his hands and knees, presenting himself for the chastity belt, his owner tutted and told him to get up. "That clearly hasn't been working. A slut like you just can't be trusted to spend the night without supervision. Come."

M led Dylan to his room to get dressed in his nightgown, then to the master bedroom. He froze in the doorway, his heart in his mouth, as his owner slipped under the covers. He patted the place beside him. "Right here, baby. I'll make sure you're good tonight."

Dylan could hardly believe it. He tentatively stepped up to the bed and curled up beside M, conscious all the while of the heat of him, the smell of his aftershave. He settled in on his back, close enough that their shoulders were touching.

M had been right. The temptation was much easier to bear, this way. At least, it was—until M whispered something in his ear that made his insides burn. He was dizzy with nerves... but he didn't say the safeword. The constant need was getting so bad, now, that even teasing was better than nothing.

He fell asleep with M's arm around him, soothed by the warm, solid body beside him. And then he wandered in his dreams, naked, his arms folded to hide his chest, tormented by some unnamed shame.

A tingling deep inside woke him. He lay there, his mind still hazy with sleep, struggling to process the sensation of a finger rubbing along his inner walls. Dylan stayed very still. M's finger started to slide out and in, in and out, so slowly that he wondered how long it had been happening before he woke up and noticed.

There was a pool of slick between his spread legs. Had M opened them while he was unconscious? Easing them apart, inch by inch, until he could reach through the opening in his nightgown and slip inside? He shivered at the thought. What else had his owner done to him while he was so utterly helpless to resist?

He kept his breathing slow and even as M's other hand wandered over his body. Feather-light touches traced over his hips, his stomach, the swell of his breasts. His owner teased his nipples, rubbing ever so gently until they stiffened. Another finger eased into his cunt, slowly,  _ so slowly, _ and he couldn't stop the little whimper that escaped him.

All movement stopped. The two fingers stayed inside him, resting there, along with the hand on his breast. Any other night, Dylan would never have been able to fall asleep again after that, but he was exhausted after two restless nights. His thoughts got fuzzy, and eventually faded away. And then, he was in his old apartment, kneeling in front of the sofa. Except that it wasn't a sofa. It was a magnificent golden throne.

Zin lounged casually on the seat, naked in all his magnificence, with one leg propped up on the other and his barbed tail flicking lazily back and forth. His glossy red skin reflected the warm gold of the throne, and his long black hair framed his powerful chest and shoulders. His cock lay soft against his thighs.

"Master," Dylan whispered, awestruck.

The incubus looked him over, his golden eyes fixing on Dylan's chest. "Is that it?" he wondered. He sounded... calm. Bored, even.

"I—"

"Didn't you like my gift?"

"I did!" Dylan was already on his knees. He prostrated himself in front of the demon, scrabbling on the floor and tucking his arms around his breasts as if to hide them. "Only—I came so many times, master, but they were hardly growing by the end."

"Hm." Zin looked away from him. "A pity."

"Master?"

"Ah, that's  _ much  _ better." Zin's voice dipped into that low purr that made Dylan's insides melt—except that he still wasn't looking at Dylan.

There was someone else in his apartment.

He knew instinctively that this was a man, though he'd been changed in just the same way that Dylan had. He was naked, displaying his own pussy, and a pair of breasts so enormous that he could hardly walk. He stumbled towards the incubus, putting his arms out to steady himself, until he finally collapsed against the throne.

Zin's cock swelled. He lifted the man up by the hips and set him in his lap, while Dylan sprawled cold and alone on the floor. And when the incubus thrust into the other man, he  _ felt  _ it. Pressure at his entrance, splitting him wide, filling him up just right. He felt the way Zin pinched the man's nipples and massaged his enormous breasts. He felt it all, but all the while he knew it wasn't for him. He'd failed. He'd never get to ride his master's cock.

This time when Dylan snapped back into consciousness, there were tears in his eyes. Tears in his eyes and something thick and hot and throbbing in his pussy. He clenched down on his owner's cock with a yelp of surprise and not a little panic. If M came inside him—

"Shh." The hands on his breasts squeezed, and M gave him a sharp thrust that drove all argument clear out of his head. "Don't worry, baby. I won't come in your cunt."   
  


Dylan relaxed. They'd talked about this, M's cock inside him without a condom, and he'd been fine with it on the condition that he pulled out long before he came. And it felt so  _ good,  _ so hot and hard and thick inside him, he couldn't help but spread his legs for more.

M leaned forward and whispered, "I could, though. You're such a heavy sleeper, I could do anything I wanted to you like this. I could come inside that sweet little pussy over and over again, I could breed you up and you'd never know a thing... but I don't want to do that. I want you all to myself, baby. I can't have that if I get you knocked up, can I?"

Dylan's insides fluttered with heat and adrenaline. M could do  _ anything  _ to him. His head spun with possibilities.

M sighed and lay down on top of him, still buried to the hilt in Dylan's cunt. "Go back to sleep, baby," he murmured. "I love playing with you like that. I love how confused you get, when you wake up with something in one of your nasty little holes and you have no idea how it got there."

A finger, already slippery with Dylan's slick, started to tease at his asshole. "I can't," he gasped. "I can't, when you're touching me..."

"Try, baby. Go on. You're so sleepy. So sleepy... Shh..."

M went still again. Dylan lay there with the weight of his owner on top of him, his softening cock in his pussy, his finger in his ass. His eyes drifted closed. And, eventually, he drifted away.

He found himself somewhere else entirely. A room full of mirrors upon mirrors, the walls a dizzying array of images of Dylan's own body from every angle. He flushed and tried to cover his chest, hating how normal it was. How much he'd clearly—

"—Wasted my gift," Zin purred. Dylan jumped, and felt the incubus grab him by the shoulders. "Look at you. Did you think I'd like those? I could find a pair of tits like that wherever I wanted. Why should you get my cock? Why shouldn't I find someone who'll give me so much more?"

"Please," Dylan groaned, "Please, I need it..."

"And you. Won't. Get it."

Zin disappeared. In his place was the silicone dildo Dylan had bought almost a year ago, in his futile attempt to satisfy his pussy by himself. He whimpered at the loss... but silicone was better than nothing. He squatted down, slipping it between his lips—only to find that there was nothing there. His cunt had closed up.

He looked down, frantic, and explored himself with his fingers. There was just... nothing, between his legs. Even his clit was gone. Dylan started to cry, because it wasn't fair, it wasn't fair that his pussy ached so much when it wasn't even there. He slid the dildo down, prodding at his asshole, pushing deeper and deeper into the only hole he had left.

As he fucked himself he threw his head back and moaned, his cries echoing off the mirrored walls. Everywhere he looked he saw his own body writhing on the dildo, his asshole clenching, his breasts bouncing up and down, up and down as if pounding out the rhythm,  _ not enough, not enough... _

And then the dildo in his ass started to fuck into him harder and rougher, and Dylan woke with a strangled cry. M was still on top of him, sinking into his ass and kneading at his breasts. "You were so loud, baby," he whispered. Dylan could barely hear him over the slick slide of the cock in his hole. "So loud for me, moaning in your sleep. I thought you'd wake up when I opened that tight asshole, but even when I was fucking it you never noticed a thing."

Dylan let out a keening whine, his hole clenching around the cock that had violated it without him ever noticing. He got lost imagining it, his own body so limp and pliable as M teased it open. Like a doll.

"I'm your toy," he moaned. "Your stupid fuckdoll..."

M's cock throbbed inside him. "That's right, baby," he growled. "Tell me more. Tell me what you are."

Dylan kept babbling, his voice breaking as he felt the first pulse of M's come inside him. "I'm your slut, your cocksleeve, just holes for you to take—!"

M sighed as he spilled himself into Dylan's ass. No one come inside him since Zin—it was as wonderful as he remembered, so hot and filthy, he couldn't help but clench his hole to try to get more of his owner's come.

"It's so good... Please, sir, can we do that again?"

M chuckled darkly. He leaned in close, his voice going soft and dark and oily as he said, "We already have, slut. Feel the bed."

Dylan reached down and moaned at the feeling of the sheets, wet with his own slick... and something else. Something thicker and stickier.

"Your little asshole is so tight, baby. I've been fucking it for hours. You've got so many loads in you, I can't believe your tummy isn't bulging."

"I feel it," he groaned. "I'm so... so sticky, inside, so full..."

"Close your eyes, slut. Close your eyes and be a good toy for me."

Dylan's mind started to blur. His last thought before he slipped away was that he hoped M would come in his mouth, too. On his tits. All over his body, so that when morning arrived he could feel all the nasty ways it had been used.


	5. Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains a little bit of praise kink, brief kink negotiation, because this one gets kind of intense (whoops), fucking machines, exhibitionism, nipple play, edging, bukkake, a couple electric shocks, situational humiliation, wetting (Dylan pisses himself), squirting, a lot of crying, a bit of drool, implied aftercare, and mindbreak. but like, consensual (and temporary) mindbreak.

"Today is going to be a very special day, baby."

Dylan glanced up from his breakfast. He was feeling pretty good today, so far—he was past the halfway point, and getting used to the steady ache between his legs. Somehow, he didn't think that was what M meant.

"Special how, sir?"

"Well. I'm sure you remember last night."

Dylan blushed. It had taken almost half an hour in the shower this morning to wash off all the come—and M had been about as helpful as he usually was, distracting him by playing with his breasts the whole time.

"You've been such a good toy for me, I thought you might be able to help me show off another toy we've been playing with."

A warm buzz tingled in the pit of Dylan's stomach at the praise. Still, all this time with M meant he was too cautious to agree  _ that  _ quickly. "Which toy?"

"Your pony, of course."

His stomach flipped. "I'd have to ride my pony?"

"Oh, yes. It would be the longest ride you've ever had. I want to show my associates everything about the machine, you see, and that means demonstrating some... side effects."

M slid a page across the table. That was enough to make Dylan raise an eyebrow. His owner had never bothered typing out a scene like this—usually he just improvised within the limits they'd already defined. If he'd gone to all this trouble, that meant there was something they hadn't discussed, or maybe something that had been a soft no when Dylan first moved in.

His eyes widened.  _ Column B it is, then. No wonder he's being so gentle this morning.  _ "Can... can I think about it first?"

"Of course." M stood up, pausing to pat him once on the head. "I'll be in the hall. If you decide you want to model your pony for me, we'll be going on a trip. If not, we'll have a nice afternoon in our usual playroom."

Getting out of the pony ride wasn't really a consideration. M would work that in whether he went on this trip or not—it was part of their preparation, whatever that meant, and every day so far had involved at least one session on it. So, really, it was a question of whether or not he wanted the extra bells and whistles.

It was funny, what being pent up for days could do. The longer Dylan looked at that one bullet point, under side effects... the more he started to wonder. And the rest of it was all stuff he really,  _ really  _ liked, too. If he wanted, he could probably negotiate that one bit out, but... honestly? Fuck it. He was curious, and this didn't even rank in the top three craziest things he'd done in the name of his libido.

He also read through the back side, which was about Saturday. Well, in for a penny... He wrote,  _ Yes!  _ with only a moment's hesitation, reasoning that he could always use the safeword if today made him reconsider. Then he tried to put it out of his mind—these things were always more fun when they felt like a surprise.

Dylan came to where M waited by the door, humming with delight when his owner smiled and pet his hair. Then he followed him to his car. They stopped outside a large, corporate-looking building and headed straight for the elevator. During the ride up, M handed him a large bottle of water and instructed him to drink the whole thing. Once he was finished Dylan donned a mask, so that none of the "associates" would recognize his face afterwards. Nothing too fancy, just leather and mesh designed to hide everything but his eyes—though this one also came with a gag that slotted into his mouth as M put it on.

They emerged into a shockingly normal-looking conference room, with floor-to-ceiling windows that gave the place an illusion of being horribly exposed despite acting more like mirrors from the outside. But even the view of the skyline couldn't compete with the pony that sat in the middle of the room, right where a table should have gone, dominating the space and glinting evilly at Dylan. It was different than the one in M's apartment, thinner and sleeker, with grooves cut into the saddle to let his slick drip out. He could see that the straps up the sides were the same, though, and there were several hooks hanging from the ceiling that he assumed were probably going to tie his hands somehow.

He walked up to the pony unprompted, glancing at his owner for permission before hopping astride it. "Good girl," M told him, and he wiggled slightly in the saddle. He stayed still while the man strapped him down, immobilizing him so completely that there was no way for him to get any stimulation beyond what the machine gave him. His arms didn't go above his head, this time—M tied them behind his back instead. The hooks in the ceiling, he soon realized, were for a massive tarp that would hide him from view until the dramatic reveal.

"Alright, baby," M told him, when he was finished attaching all the tiny pads to his forehead and temples and the insides of his wrists. His owner also pressed a button into his hand that would act as the safeword while he was gagged. "Time for your ride."

Riding the pony was different with his eyes and ears free. A little less intense, maybe... but it also meant he could also hear his own muffled noises as a dildo slid out of the saddle and into his pussy. It was bigger than he was used to, and started to vibrate almost immediately. Something cold and slick squirted into his asshole, making him yelp and jump. Another vibrator followed it, so that by the time the machine started to rock back and forth he was already twitching from the twin assault on both his holes.

The last piece that slid out of the machine was a suction cup that attached itself to his clit. Dylan had only an instant of wide-eyed surprise before it started to suck, and he was lost to the sensation. He hardly noticed that his breasts and nipples had been left bare and neglected—he was too busy whimpering into his gag as the pony dragged him to the edge and held him there, the vibration turning off the instant he was about to come.

It was a familiar torment. Dylan relaxed into it, staying in the moment, riding wave after wave of frustrated pleasure. It was easier when he stopped fighting it. But past experience could only help him so much—he'd never ridden the pony so long before. As time dragged on, his thoughts got more and more muddled.

Had it been an hour, yet? Two?

There was no clock for Dylan to watch. Just the black drape over him and the pony that hid the rest of the room from view. He couldn't see M, either, though he guessed he was just outside, passing the time by playing with himself.

How many times had his owner come by now? Twice? Three times? More?

A muffled moan escaped him. Tears stung his eyes as a wave of envy crashed over him, so intense that it made him clench around the vibrators in his holes. He couldn't do this. Why had he thought he could do this?

Was the rest of the room still there? Did anything exist except these dark drapes and the machine that was torturing him?

He started to cry, like he hadn't since his first time on the pony. Hot tears dripped down his naked body, trailing between his breasts, sometimes striking his nipples and sending maddening bolts of electricity down his spine. His thoughts scattered under the assault of sensation. He could feel his head getting heavy and slow, as if it had been stuffed with cotton.

Where was his owner? He wanted his owner. He wanted his owner's cock. There was some reason he couldn't have it, but he needed it. He didn't care about complicated reasons, anymore. He didn't care about anything except the excruciating throbbing in his clit.

He fought his restraints, grunting and gibbering into the gag as he fought to roll his hips against the saddle. If he could just find a little give, the slightest bit of stimulation that was in his control... but he couldn't move. He sobbed and tried to plead for his owner, but he was gagged and anyway he couldn't string the words together. All he could do was go limp and take it as the machine wound him tighter and tighter and he snapped over and over and over again, his thoughts scattering until there was nothing left in his head but  _ need. _

He started hearing things. Muttering. Chairs creaking. The occasional cough. Then his owner's voice. It took a long time to piece together what he was saying, and even then Dylan couldn't understand it. Individual words penetrated the haze of his mind, but it was hard to put them together.

"The device reads the subject's vitals and adjusts itself accordingly, so there's no need to be gentle. It should hold a subject on the edge of orgasm indefinitely—though, of course, there's only been so much testing. In fact, the current record for the longest ride on one of these machines is... three hours and fourteen minutes."

Muttering.

"Why that exact number? Well, in about... three... two... one. That's three hours and fifteen minutes."

More muttering, sounding excited.

"I'm sure you've noticed the curtain. Gentlemen? Prepare yourselves."

Light struck Dylan like a physical blow. He groaned and sagged against his restraints, panting through the gag as the dark drapes fell away, pooling around the foot of the pony and revealing a room full of strange men. All M's age, more or less. All dressed in collared shirts and ties and sharply creased slacks. Their faces dropped into little Os of surprise.

"Is that what that noise was?" one of them blurted. "I thought it might be the device, but—is that woman alright?"

Dylan couldn't comprehend most of it—but he understood just enough to flush at the mistake.

"Perfectly. My pet here volunteered to demonstrate the effectiveness of the device."

There was some shuffling around the room, as several of the men tried to surreptitiously cover the tenting in their slacks.

"No need to be shy, gentlemen. Kennings, why don't you test the adjustment feature?"

The man who'd spoken earlier stood up. "Shall I just...?" he said, reaching tentatively towards Dylan.

"Hands only, for now."

The man hesitated, then cupped one of his breasts in his hand. Dylan moaned into his gag. The pony stopped rocking back and forth, and instead started to judder up and down, making his breasts jiggle and pushing the dildos even deeper into his holes. It gave Kennings easier access, too. He started slow, then got bolder, pinching and twisting at Dylan's nipples while he writhed helplessly in the saddle. As promised, the machine adjusted to his every touch. Even with outside stimulation added in, it would not let Dylan come.

More of the men came forward, one at a time and then in twos and threes. They took turns teasing Dylan's nipples, rubbing his ass, stroking his thighs. He tried to beg, but the gag wouldn't let him and he doubted he could have gotten the words out anyway. It was so hard to think...

"May I...?" One of the men gestured to his crotch, where his erection was clearly straining against his trousers.

"By all means. The exhibition guidelines are on the screen there." M pointed to something out of Dylan's line of sight. "Self-touching is encouraged."

That was all most of them needed to hear. Cocks started to come out all around Dylan. Some men groped at him with one hand while they stroked themselves with the other, while others instead rubbed their dicks against any part of him they could reach. Less than a minute had past before one man started to jerk erratically at his cock, grunting and groaning and muttering, "God, those  _ tits!" _ He staggered forward, aimed, and spattered his come all over Dylan's chest.

"Do you like that, pet?" M drawled from the other side of the room. He wasn't participating—just leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head, watching. "Go on. Tell the nice men whether or not you like having their nasty come on you."   
  


Dylan was too hazy to make sense of it.

"That's right," M sighed. "I forgot what a stupid slut you are. That stuff. On your tits. Do you like it, pet?"

This time, he understood enough to answer—but not enough to try to spare his pride. He nodded frantically, squirming in confused embarrassment as the men all around him started to laugh. They closed in all around him, some grunting when they came, others calling him names.

  
"You're such a filthy animal," one man moaned, and shot all over Dylan's stomach.

"Nasty whore," growled another, reaching up and dragging Dylan down by his nipple. He cried out into the gag and bent at the waist to ease the pressure. As soon as he did, the man squeezed his cock and came all over his masked face.

Dylan whimpered around the gag. He was so confused. He'd been good, hadn't he? He'd ridden his pony like his owner wanted. Why was he a filthy animal? Why was he a nasty whore? But it felt so good to be groped like this, to have a harsh voice snarl at him that he was a bad girl, such a bad girl for letting them come all over him. Heat coiled in the pit of his stomach, tensing for a release—

And then a bolt of pain shot through his clit. He jumped, jiggling his breasts in one man's face so that he spilled himself all over Dylan's front. It was just enough to pull him back, to keep him from tumbling over the edge.

Soon the men had all finished, and Dylan was covered from head to toe in their come. M started talking again, all about how the machine worked, and as they listened to his presentation they kept on watching Dylan. Even now while they weren't touching him, every eye in the room was on him.

Dylan groaned into his gag. Now that they were finished, couldn't he get down? Couldn't he get his release? It had been so long...

So long that there was a tingle in his lower belly.

Dylan had been told to drink a bottle of water in the elevator. So Dylan had drank, because he was a good girl who did what his owner told him. Only he'd been on his pony for hours, now, without a single break to relieve himself.

His heart started to pound against his ribs. He tried to speak through the gag, but it was useless. He didn't even know what he'd say. The words kept slipping away. So he wriggled and whined in an attempt to get his owner's attention, but M was too focused on his presentation.

It would have been fine. Dylan had held it in for longer before. But the pony was merciless. It picked up speed before he could even try to tell his owner about his plight, and drove him into a fresh wave of torturous pleasure. His clit throbbed and jumped and twitched as it was sucked, and a pulse of heat rushed through his body. He convulsed, his legs jerking against their bonds, his eyes rolling as the gag muffled his desperate cries. Every single muscle in his body tensed on the verge of orgasm—and then, as the vibration vanished, they went limp.

Dylan squeezed down on the vibrator in a desperate attempt to control his bladder. A tiny trickle escaped him, running through the grooves in the saddle and disappearing into the trough designed to catch his slick. He froze, the muscles in his pussy trembling with the effort of stopping himself now that he'd let that little bit out.

For an instant, he thought that maybe he would be spared. Maybe no one had noticed. But many of the men were still watching the spectacle he made, and a few picked their heads up and started whispering to their neighbors.

Dylan could watch the news spread. He caught flashes of incredulous looks, vicious smiles, and bulging trousers. One by one their attention settled on him like a physical weight, until even M had stopped speaking to stare. He clenched his pussy, trembling, struggling with all his will to save himself from what was about to happen.

His body failed him. He felt a rush of searing heat as he finally let go, and realized that this was why M had left his eyes and ears uncovered. It forced him to listen to the sound of his own piss trickling out of the saddle, running hot and filthy down his legs, and spattering in the trough underneath him. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the sea of faces. Some were full of cruel amusement, others excitement, still others disgust. And M stood at the front of them all, his lip curling in satisfaction as he watched Dylan wet himself in front of every. Single. Man.

He wasn't sure where the laughter started, but it spread like wildfire. Soon all of their shoulders were shaking as they howled and jeered at him. Dylan wanted to hide, wanted to disappear into the ground—but he couldn't. He was strapped down, trapped in his own filth, helpless to escape his humiliation.

Dylan started to wail into his gag, his breath coming in shuddering gasps and heaving sobs as he cried uncontrollably. He was so full of molten shame he was sure he was about to burst, and even worse, it was all going right to his pussy. He writhed with it, his cheeks burning as his cunt fluttered at the sound of all those men laughing at him.

He heard footsteps approaching. M stopped just in front of him, tutting softly. "Did you have an accident, baby?"

Dylan was crying too hard to respond.

"Right, of course." M's voice jumped to that high, sing-song register people used to talk to their pets. "Did my nasty girl wet herself?"

Dylan's owner had asked him a question. He had to answer, even if it made him feel like a disgusting animal. So he nodded, sobbing even harder, and just then, just when he thought he couldn't possibly sink any lower, his body betrayed him a second time. He'd been so close for so long, and he was so nasty, so dirty, his cunt always responded when he was ashamed. As he admitted what he'd done to the entire room, more humiliated than he'd ever been in his life, his pussy pulsed and squirted. Slick gushed down his legs, and a fresh chorus of laughter broke out.

It was almost like an orgasm. As if his mind, rather than his body, had been teased to the brink and then shattered. Dylan sank into their mockery, let it strip away what was left of his pride, his reason, his identity. It could stay gone for a while, drifting in some distant place, safely out of sight. For now? He would let them reduce him to a mindless animal.

M shook his head. "I'm terribly sorry, gentlemen," he said, once the amusement had mostly died down. "It seems we'll have to cut this short. I have to get this filthy slut in the shower."

The men started to file out, a few pausing to shoot another load onto Dylan's trembling body. Once they were gone, the pony slowed to a halt and he collapsed against his restraints.

"That's it," M cooed. "You've been such a good girl today, baby. Such a good girl." He slipped off the mask. Dylan's mouth opened, and a stream of drool dribbled down his chin.

"My good girl." He curled into his owner's body as M untied him. "You did so well. So well. You're going to get a reward tomorrow, baby. That's right. Come on. This way. Let's get you cleaned up. Do you want my cock? You can't come, I'm sorry pet, but you can have my cock in your pussy. Does that sound good? Yeah... yeah, that's my good girl..."


	6. Saturday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains more mindbreak, altered mental state, degradation, feminization, infidelity roleplay, mentions of a gangbang but it's offscreen, punishment, watersports, piss enema (M pissing inside Dylan), and rape roleplay (or like, three things that might count as rape roleplay? so i'm just gonna go ahead and tag it)

Dylan was a good girl. His owner told him so.

Being good was hard, because Dylan was stupid. He kept forgetting he wasn't allowed to touch himself, at first, but his owner helped him learn. When he was an obedient pet, he got his owner's cock. When he was a dirty slut, his owner spanked his pussy. Eventually, his owner promised, he would get better. He would stop wanting to be a bad girl, because he would remember that bad girls got punished.

There wasn't much time for him to learn, though. Only Friday evening, and Saturday morning, before it was time for Dylan's reward.

"Come here, baby."

Dylan obediently crawled into his owner's lap, presenting his pussy to be fucked or spanked.

M chuckled. "Not this time, pet. Today is your reward for showing all those men how you ride your pony, remember?"

He whimpered in disappointment.

"If you're a good girl, you can have my cock after. Doesn't that sound nice? Maybe I'll come in your asshole."

"Please," Dylan groaned. It was one of the only words he could still use through the haze of need that had clouded him.

"Okay. We're going to have to get you ready, then. You want to look pretty for the party, don't you?"

Dylan followed his owner into his room and let him pull the dress over his head. It was hard for him to do up all the zippers and buttons, now. He relaxed into the silky fabric, humming contentedly as it rubbed against the underwear he wore underneath—a bra and panties that M had picked out, ones that made him flush with shame even though he couldn't remember why. He loved when his owner made him feel dirty.

After the dress came another step. M led him into the bathroom, where a man he'd never met helped him put on makeup. "You won't have your mask tonight," his owner explained, "but this way you'll look nice and different."

Dylan squirmed in his seat, panting a little as his pussy started to throb. He felt so nasty like this. "More?" he asked. "Please, sir. Want..."

"What do you want, pet?" M asked, as the man who'd done his makeup left. "More what?"

Dylan couldn't put it into words. He tugged helplessly at the dress, the underwear underneath it.

M sighed. "What would you do if I didn't love to fuck that pussy so much, hm? A dumb bitch like you would never survive without an owner."

Dylan groaned in satisfaction. "Thank you, sir."

A dark chuckle. "Do you even know what I'm saying? Let's test it. Who's a disgusting, worthless slut?"

His breath hitched into a sob of pleasure. "More... please..."

"Of course you don't. You're just my mindless fucktoy, aren't you? Nod your head, baby. Nod your head for me."

Dylan nodded vigorously.

"Mmh. Good girl. I think you're all ready, now." M held out his arm, and Dylan took it.

It was dark outside. They made their way to a large building, understated on the outside and absurdly lavish within. No one paid Dylan any mind as they entered—their eyes were all on M, who walked in as though he owned the place. Maybe he did. He owned Dylan, after all.

He just gaped for a while, staggered by the crowd of people, the bright colors, the plates of food being carried all around. Maybe he would have kept staring all day—but someone soon came to talk to him.

"You must be M's new beau," said an older woman. Dylan blinked in confusion. "His sweetheart," she clarified. And then, when he still didn't respond, she let out a frustrated sigh. "His  _ girl." _

Oh. "Yes," said Dylan. He was M's good girl, except when he was a bad slut.

There were more people, with more questions, but M stepped up beside him and helped Dylan answer him. "She doesn't talk much," he explained. "Yes, the dress is a treat, isn't it? No, I don't think she knows anything about that." Dylan stood back and basked in the nasty feeling he always got when M referred to him in front of other people.

Except that some of the questions couldn't be answered for him.

"Do you like M's apartment?" a young man wondered. "I've heard it's a treat."

Like... M's... "Good," Dylan said. "Good... cock."

There was a startled hush. M forced a laugh. "Ah, yes, my lovely lady was feeling a bit lonely, so I bought her a rooster. Isn't that right, baby?"

Dylan wasn't sure what his owner had said, so he nodded agreement.

M pulled him away from the center of the party so that he could growl in his ear, "This is less endearing in public, slut. Keep your stupid mouth shut from now on."

Dylan's only answer was a confused whine.

His owner let out an aggravated sigh. "When someone talks to you," he said slowly, "Smile and nod. Don't talk back. Just smile, and nod."

Dylan smiled, and nodded.

"Good girl. I'm going to go talk to some friends—I'll be back in a while."

Dylan whimpered. He didn't want M to go. He didn't like this party. If they were still home right now, his owner would be playing with him. But he'd been learning like a good girl, and he knew that arguing meant he'd be punished. So he stood there, looking around, feeling very lost in the sea of guests.

"Hello, beautiful."

He blinked and turned around. There was a man standing in front of him—a little older than Dylan, a little younger than M. "Enjoying the party?" the stranger asked.

Dylan smiled and nodded.

"I'm glad. These things can be dreadfully boring, you know. I'm Victor, by the way. And you?"

Dylan smiled and nodded.

Victor raised an eyebrow. "I... see. Care for a dance?"

Dylan smiled, and nodded.

He let Victor lead him out to the middle of the room, where they swayed in time with the music. It was nice, but strange—the man drew him closer and closer every song, until he put his hands on Dylan's hips and pulled their bodies flush together.

"Want to get out of here?" he murmured.

Dylan smiled. And nodded.

Trailing guilelessly after Victor, Dylan found himself turning down one large, empty hallway after another. The man stopped in a little alcove, once the sounds of the party had faded to a distant murmur. Dylan stood beside him, looking around, a little confused as to what he was doing here. Then he felt it—hands on his hips, pulling him close. Were they dancing again?

Victor's hands started to roam. He grabbed Dylan's breasts, squeezed them, rubbed his thumbs over his nipples. He whimpered. It was so confusing, being touched like this by someone besides his owner. This was bad. It was bad to let someone else use him. Even if it felt so good, even if his pussy was throbbing, Dylan was supposed to be a good girl.

He yelped as a hand slipped under the hem of his dress. Dylan retreated until his back hit the wall, and Victor pressed him against it. His fingers slipped past the waistband of his panties and slid down his slit. "You want a taste?" he whispered.

Helpless against his orders, Dylan smiled and nodded. Victor pressed his fingers into his mouth, making him taste himself.

"On your knees."

Dylan was a good girl. He was a good girl, and this wasn't his owner—but he dropped anyway. Tears stung at his eyes. He wasn't a good girl. He was a nasty, dirty girl. It wasn't fair that it was so hard to be good, and felt so wonderful to be filthy.

Victor unzipped his slacks and pulled himself out. "I've always heard M had good taste in sluts," he said. "Thought I'd test it tonight."

Dylan grabbed the man's hips and took his cock into his mouth. It was longer than M's. Thicker, too. Nothing on Zin's, of course, but that wasn't a fair comparison. He moaned and started to worship it, licking hot stripes along the shaft, swirling his tongue around the tip. Victor's head tipped back. His breathing grew labored.

"Fuck," he groaned, as Dylan swallowed him all the way to the base. "Yeah, baby. Just like that. Just like...  _ fuck." _ He grabbed Dylan by the hair and pulled out. It took a moment of fumbling in his pocket for him to produce a condom. "I was just gonna let you suck me off, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't have a little extra fun after that." He pawed frantically at Dylan's dress, undoing zippers and pushing fabric away until he was naked. "Down, girl. On your hands and knees."

Dylan did as he was told. His whole body was trembling with sick pleasure, and he couldn't help the squeal of delight that slipped out of him as Victor grabbed him by the hips and pressed his cock into his pussy. The man thrust hard and deep, pounding into him so that he saw stars, and he realized with a rush that Victor had no idea he wasn't allowed to come. Victor wouldn't pull out the moment he got close. He could get his release  _ right now. _

"More," he whined, "please, more!"

"More what, slut?"

Dylan and Victor both went deathly still at the sound of that cool, oily voice behind them. There was no way for them to hide—Victor's cock was still plunged deep inside of him. He could only hang his head and hope his owner could punish him just right for this, so that he wouldn't be such a filthy girl ever again.

Victor pulled out with a wet popping sound. "I didn't mean—" M cut him off by yanking down his slacks, exposing his bare ass and his cock, still shiny with Dylan's slick. Then he spanked him, hard enough that he jumped.

"See that banister?"

The man swallowed hard and nodded.

"Stick your head through the bars."

Victor struggled to obey—he only just fit, and had to get down on his hands and knees like Dylan to manage it. M buckled his belt around the man's neck, weaving it between the bars of the banister. Not tight enough to choke, but enough that he couldn't free himself.

"I'll make sure the guests know there's free entertainment in this hall," M said.

"Please!" Victor blurted. "Wait, I can—you don't understand, I never meant to—"

"You were so eager to act the whore a moment ago," M snapped. "Now, anyone who wants a bit of fun is going to come to this hallway to do whatever they like to you, and you're going to spread your legs and take it."

Victor slumped against his bonds, as M dragged Dylan away by his nipple—pausing only to gather up the discarded dress, to hide the evidence from the others who would come this way.

His owner pushed Dylan into an empty bathroom, where he obediently got down on all fours and presented himself for his spanking. After several seconds, when M just stood there without touching him, he glanced over his shoulder in confusion.

"I think I've been making a terrible mistake, slut," M told him.

Dylan swallowed nervously. No spanking meant a different punishment, and there was no pony here. That meant something  _ new. _

"You see, I assumed I could train you. Even a mindless animal like you understands punishment and reward. But that's the thing, isn't it? You're not an animal. Animals are smarter, for one. They have better control over themselves. And they're not as  _ twisted  _ as you, are they?"

Dylan felt dizzy. He didn't know where this was going, was struggling even to keep up with what his owner was saying. All he could do was grovel at M's feet and wait for him to decide what to do to him.

"That's right. I think you've been keeping a secret."

"S-sir?"

"When I spank that horny little pussy, to punish you when you're being a bad girl. You  _ like  _ it, don't you?"

Dylan lowered his eyes to the floor and whispered, "Yes..."

M sighed. "That puts me in a very difficult position, you know. A bad girl needs to be punished. But I can't punish you that way, can I?" His owner stepped closer, running a hand down his back. "I've got to think on my feet. Figure out how to make a stupid slut like you understand what a nasty thing she's done."

Dylan's pussy fluttered, and M chuckled. "God, you even like that, don't you? Sometimes I think there might be no hope for you at all... but we'll give this a try, at least. Get up."

He stood, his legs trembling in anticipation. M led him to one of the stalls, closing the lid on the toilet so that he could bend Dylan over it. His legs were a little taller than the seat, so the position made his ass stick up in the air. His owner closed the stall door behind them, and locked it.

There was the click of a bottle, and seconds later he felt his owner's fingers on his asshole, sliding in and rubbing the lube against his rim. Dylan shuddered with pleasure, though he tried to hide it. He was being punished. Good girls didn't enjoy being punished.

"Did it feel nice, baby? Did you like having that man's cock in your pussy?"

Dylan shook his head frantically, then yelped when M pinched his clit.

"No lying, now."

Slowly, shamefully, he nodded.

"I don't blame you." M's hand stroked his ass as he opened him up, almost gentle even in the midst of a punishment. "You can't be expected to understand right and wrong like this. You're just a mindless slut, and your pussy is so horny, isn't it?"

Dylan moaned agreement.

"Of course you want cock. Of course you do. But you have to learn the difference between  _ my  _ cock..." The tip of it teased at his rim, and Dylan let slip a delighted gasp. "Yes. My cock is good, isn't it? You're my toy, you love it when I use you."

M pressed into him. Dylan's back arched involuntarily, and he panted through the sharp sting and hot slide of it as it sank into his ass. "See? My cock is good."

Dylan nodded.

"What is a stranger's cock?"

He could hardly speak, overwhelmed as he was by the feeling of M starting to slide in and out of his hole.

"Come on. You can do it, baby. What do we call a stranger's cock, when he fucks you without my permission?"

"B-bad," Dylan stammered.

"That's right." M picked up his pace. "Now, I'm going to show you how a stranger's cock should feel. It's good right now, I know it is. I know. It feels so good to have something in that greedy cunt. But when a stranger uses you, he makes you dirty."

His owner thrust into him, as deep as he could go, and Dylan cried out. "Look down, baby. You see that? You let that man make you his come dump, today. His nasty little toilet. Just... like...  _ this." _

Even when he felt the first spurt of heat inside, Dylan still didn't understand. He squirmed with pleasure, because it felt like his owner coming in his ass, and he loved it when his owner came in his ass. But then it kept on going, too thin and too sticky and so,  _ so  _ hot that his insides tingled with it. It took that long for him to realize that M was pissing inside him.

"No!" he squealed. "I'm sorry, sir! I'm so sorry, please!"

"You did this to yourself, slut," M growled. "Letting some strange man use you. You turned yourself into a toilet for him, and now...  _ ahh." _ There was another gush of heat, and Dylan started to cry.

"Now you can feel it, can't you? You can feel what a nasty girl you are, what a disgusting, worthless thing you become when you spread your legs for a stranger. Can't you, baby?"

"Yes," Dylan sobbed. "Yes, please, no more!"   
  


M grunted, and a fresh stream of piss gushed into Dylan. "Feel your tummy, baby."

He put his hands on his stomach and moaned at the feeling of it bulging out, bloated and swollen.

"You're going to be a good girl from now on, aren't you? You won't let anything dirty into my pussy."

"No, sir!"

The rush of piss slowed to a stop, leaving Dylan feeling feverish. He was so hot inside, so hot and so filthy, he wasn't sure he could ever be clean again.

"I want to take care of you, baby," M told him, petting soothing circles on his ass. "I want to teach you not to let any man who wants use you like this. And I'm a forgiving man. I really am. But the next time you let someone else's cock in  _ my  _ pussy, at  _ my  _ party? I won't help you anymore. Understand? You'll spend the rest of your life as a toilet."

"No!" Dylan wailed. "Don't, please! I'm sorry!"

"I know you are. I know, baby. That's why I'm giving you one more chance. But you need to make sure you remember, hm? So I'm going to pull out now. I'm going to pull out, and you're going to hold all that nasty stuff inside you. Ready?"

Dylan nodded. He clenched down as M pulled away, so that only a little of his owner's piss dribbled down his leg. It was hard work to hold it in, and within seconds his asshole was trembling with the effort.

"Turn around for me."

He turned, so that he was sitting on the floor of the stall with his back to the toilet, his stomach bulging, his owner's cock hovering inches from his face.

M smiled. "Perfect. All that's left is a little reminder of who you belong to. Open your mouth, baby."

Dylan opened his mouth. He stayed as still as he could, his hands flat on his distended belly, waiting until M's cock painted his face with streaks of come. It got on his cheeks, in his hair, on his tongue. He moaned and wrapped his arms around his stomach.

"I'm going back to the party," M told him. "You're going to stay here, and hold that in for as long as you possibly can. You're going to think about what you did, and what a nasty girl you are. And when you're done, you're going to come find me. Understand?"

Dylan nodded. He perked up slightly, waiting for M to tell him that he'd done well, that he'd taken his punishment like a—

"Are you waiting for me to call you a good girl?  _ Really?" _ M scoffed. "Do what you're told, you dirty whore." He walked away, leaving Dylan sprawled on the bathroom floor to wallow in his humiliation.

He knelt there on the tiles as the minutes dragged by, holding his punishment inside himself, crumbling into a fresh wave of tears. This new punishment was even more confusing than the spanking. He was ashamed of himself like he was supposed to be, he understood that he'd let that man turn into a worthless, disgusting toilet—and his pussy was dripping with it. Slick trailed down his thighs as he knelt there, sweating from all that heat trapped inside him, until the pressure in his stomach got to be too much and he was forced to let it all out.

Dylan cleaned himself off as best he could before leaving the bathroom. He found M by the staircase. Victor wasn't tied to it anymore. Instead, he was sitting on the steps with a blanket over his shoulders.

"There's my good girl," M said, reaching out to pet his hair. "You did a very good job today." The knot in Dylan's stomach vanished, and he relaxed into his owner's touch. Then M glanced down at Victor. "Everything go alright?"

"Oh." Victor rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I, uh, sort of came too early. I'm taking a break for a bit, overstimulation really isn't my thing."

M shrugged. "Fair enough. We're going to go, now. I need to take care of this one."

"Okay." Victor waved to Dylan. "Uh... nice meeting you?"

Even if he hadn't been so muddled with lust, Dylan didn't think he'd have known how to respond to that. He waved back awkwardly, and followed his owner back to his car.

Dylan spent the ride back feeling pleasantly sleepy. He only stirred when, about halfway to the apartment, M reached over to tap his shoulder. "Are you excited, pet?"

"Huh?"

His owner laughed. "I never thought you'd forget about tomorrow, of all things."

Dylan's eyes widened. Tomorrow.  _ Sunday.  _ The end of the week. "I get to—?"

"As long as you're good today." M glanced over at him, wearing an evil smile that made Dylan's insides squirm. "We have a lot of time to make up for, don't we?"

Dylan swallowed hard. Something told him that tomorrow would be the best kind of hell.


	7. Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains more mindbreak and altered mental state, drooling, fucking machines, nipple play, nipple torture, temperature play, electricity, coming untouched (i think? his breasts get touched a lot but he comes the first time without any other stimulation), forced orgasm, multiple orgasms, vaginal sex, anal sex, creampie, breast expansion (well past human proportions)
> 
> also M takes a photograph of Dylan's naked body when they're finished (with permission)

The night before Dylan would finally,  _ finally  _ be free was the hardest of all. M hardly needed to touch him, when he was sopping wet and desperate all on his own. Of course, his owner never missed a chance to tease him—he put a vibrator in Dylan's pussy and left it there all night, humming softly, sucking away the last of his coherent thoughts.

By dawn, he was empty. M shook him awake and he drooled all over the pillow, panting and moaning without even being touched. At a gentle tug from his owner he got up, following mindlessly wherever he was guided, aware of nothing but the throbbing, pulsing heat between his legs.

His owner stopped in front of a machine. A new one, nothing like the pony. There was a metal frame covered in straps for him to hang in. Dylan went slack as M pushed his arms into the restraints, submitting meekly while his naked body was secured so that he couldn't move an inch. He was left on his feet, but most of his weight was supported by the straps. They held him so that he was bent at a slight angle, his ass and chest both sticking out.

M said something Dylan couldn't process. He moaned in response, more drool dripping down his chin. Thinking was impossible. All he could do was ache.

His owner laughed and placed a metal box on the frame. It rested at chest height, with two clamps sticking out. M took his breasts in his hands and pressed them into the machine. It bit down, so hard that Dylan yelped. The clamps were just a little too high, and the force of gravity pulling on them made his nipples sting. A pair of suction cups shot out a moment later, sealing themselves over the clamps. The final piece was a microphone attached to the box with a wire, which M hung a few inches from his mouth.

Realization dawned on Dylan. He started to struggle as he finally understood that there was no dildo. No vibrator. Nothing at all to stimulate his pussy. Was his owner going to edge him again? He couldn't take that! He let out a garbled groan of protest.

The instant the sound left him, the clamps over his nipples came alive. They pinched and sucked him, making him cry out again, louder this time. The sensation intensified until Dylan couldn't distinguish between the hurt and the lust it caused. He went limp in his bonds, panting softly, and just like that there was only a gentle tugging at his breasts.

It was the sounds he made. They controlled the machine. Dylan was too muddled to speak, but he babbled incoherently until he felt it again, that searing pressure wringing at his nipples. And then, far too late, he understood the trap of this device. Because Dylan had learned how to control himself in many different ways, under M's discipline—but staying quiet had not been one of them.

He grunted and whimpered, babbling the last word he'd held on to, the only one he could still say,  _ please,  _ over and over as the pain-pleasure quickly became unbearable. As his cries grew louder, the clamps started to heat up. Pleasant warmth grew into searing heat. Then they cooled, so rapidly that his back tried to arch against his restraints, and the grip of the clamps turned icy cold. It kept on that way, cycling back and forth, faster and faster until he couldn't tell the difference anymore. Hot or cold, they always burned.

"Please!" he shouted, the sound wrenched from him against his will. The machine punished him with a jolt of electricity. He moaned and struggled against it, even as each new assault on his sensitive nipples sent bolts of heat directly to his pussy. They coiled up there, winding him tighter and tighter until he stood rigid in his bonds, every muscle flexed to the breaking point.

It was instinct, now, to fight his orgasm. Dylan couldn't stop, even though he knew he was allowed, now. He had permission. But in the end, the machine had to force it out of him. The clamps vibrated and sucked and twisted his nipples, snapping a whole week's worth of tension in an instant. It all came crashing down on him at once—flashes of his owner's cock in his mouth, his asshole, his dripping pussy. He felt M's hands on him, water beating down on his back, mocking laughter ringing in his ears.

A full-throated moan drove the machine to even greater heights as Dylan's body was caught in the throes of his pleasure. He thrashed against its assault, his nipples suddenly so sensitive that even the pleasure of it made him want to cry. There was a familiar tingling in his breasts as they swelled, ever so slightly. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

But M made no move to free him from the machine. And everything was a little clearer, now that his frustration had eased. Dylan sagged against his bonds as the machine kept on tugging at his nipples, sucking at his breasts as aftershocks rolled through him. He reached another peak right as they went from hot to cold—or maybe it was from cold to hot?—and this time, he tried to clamp his mouth shut.

  
It was too much, too fast. He fought to hold in the noises he was making, to stop the machine's momentum before it was too late. But then he felt the heat of his owner's body behind him, heard his voice in his ear. "I wanted you to come just from your titties, the first time. But now that's done... this is going to take a while, baby. I have to have my fun, too."

For once, M didn't tease him. Didn't rub at his slit until he begged for it. He plunged in with a grunt, fucking into Dylan from behind with no regard for his pleasure. The machine was responsible for that. He just took him, laughing when Dylan started to moan helplessly on his cock.

And that was it. His last chance to escape the vicious cycle slipped away, and he was lost.

His third orgasm made him cry out again, and bled into his fourth so that he could hardly tell he'd ever stopped coming. From there it all melded together. His breasts throbbed and pulsed and swelled like he hadn't seen in months. The growth was still too slow to see, but it was constant. Relentless.

M finished using him, and Dylan was once again alone with the machine. He started to cry, his whole body trembling with the pain of the clamps that mercilessly twisted his nipples. The more he came, the more muddled he got. The clarity he'd only just got back was wrenched away, until he was so hazy with lust that the agony in his tits and the molten pleasure in his pussy melded together, each one feeding the other, and all he could do was give in to the tide.

So Dylan did. He let his moans and whimpers and cries fuel his torture, sinking into the confusing mess of sensation. He had no idea how long. His owner came back when his cock was hard again, muttering, "You're so hot when you squeal," as he pressed inside. M's visits became his only measure of time. Usually it was his pussy, but sometimes M took his asshole instead, neglecting a condom so that he could spend himself deep inside. Each time Dylan's breasts were a little bigger, and each time he craved the pain a little more.

He thought he understood. He thought he had a handle on the machine, on how this would go. The final shoe dropped as M was fucking him, and he realized how much heavier his breasts felt than the last time he'd been used. How sore his nipples were, and how much sting gravity added to every tug of the clamps. That was when he knew that it was only going to get worse.

"Please!" he started to wail, as his breasts throbbed with their own weight. It was a mistake, a terrible mistake, and the loudest he'd been so far. This time, the machine sent a bolt of electricity through both his nipples—and Dylan screamed.

His eyes rolled back at the surge of current. He jerked and twitched in his bonds, so overwhelmed that he howled and caused another jolt. Dylan's breasts bulged. He sobbed and wailed as they reached the size of melons and just  _ kept growing. _ Faster and faster now, as his screams sent the machine to new heights. Gravity stretched his raw, swollen nipples into pointing fingers, and the machine wrung a fresh orgasm from his defenseless body.

He couldn't beg anymore. His voice was trapped in one long, desperate howl of agony, of ecstasy, reaching a fever pitch. The machine yanked and sucked at his nipples, searing them with heat or cold or something else altogether, while the electricity made his body dance in its straps like the helpless puppet it was. His breasts didn't even look human. They were absurd, obscene, not the chest of a person but of a thing, a living toy that was nothing but holes to be fucked.

This was what he'd wanted. This was what he would give to Zin.

Dylan's torture only ended when his voice gave out. His wails turned into croaks, and the machine slowed until it was only teasing, only playing with those distended nipples and hideously swollen breasts. He was released from the endless sea of orgasms, and his broken body gave up.

He slumped against his owner when M untied him. His head was so heavy, and his  _ tits...  _ god, he would never be able to walk with these tits. He whimpered softly as his owner laid him down in his bed, which had become their bed over the past few days.

"This is goodbye, I think," M said quietly.

Dylan nodded.

His owner picked up a camera from his nightstand. "I'd like to keep a little memento, if that's alright with you."

Dylan posed for it as best he could. He lay there, sprawled on his back with his enormous breasts spreading to either side, pinning him down. Leaving him so vulnerable, his legs spread, his dripping pussy exposed. The camera flashed.

M groaned. "I had no idea it would be so...  _ look  _ at you." He climbed on top of Dylan and started to touch his breasts. Gingerly at first, as though he couldn't believe they were real... and then harder, kneading and slapping them until the skin there flushed pink.

Dylan reveled in the way he was trapped there by his own body—he couldn't sit up, could do nothing to fight his owner as he opened him wider, fingering his pussy, getting him ready. "You really are just a doll, now," M told him, as he sank into him.  _ "Fuck. _ Just a plaything. Can't even get up. I'm gonna use you, baby. I'm gonna use you all night."

He didn't speak. Didn't really want to, now. He just let himself go limp as his owner took whatever he wanted.

"What are you?" M gasped, panting as he thrust into Dylan. "I want to hear you say it, baby."

"I'm an object." Dylan's voice came out in a blank drone. Empty, so empty of thought or emotion. "I'm a mindless toy." The only thing that could penetrate all that emptiness was cock. "I'm just holes to be used." And M would use them, would fill them up so good, and that was all Dylan wanted. He didn't even want to come, not so soon after his ordeal. All he wanted was to serve, to pleasure the cock in his holes, to milk them until he was sticky with its release.

It felt so good to stop, just for a while. To stop being Dylan. To stop being anyone. Not to think, or even to obey. Only to lie there and be used like the pretty little fuckdoll he was.


End file.
